Второй Шанс
by MidnightDawn999
Summary: And in that moment... Vladimir changed everything. (Ranskahov AU one!shot. Title means Second Chance!)


**Here lies an AU... Yeah. Haha - if you can, please tell me what you think.**

 **God bless!**

The dark hall was quiet. Vladimir listened to the receding footsteps of the Devil... He was leaving. Maybe he could kill Fisk... maybe. It was the only hope Vladimir held now, because he knew... he wasn't going to make it out of this-not this time.

Even if he managed to take out every last one of Fisk' s men, his injuries would kill him. It was so easy-to give up... to die. He'd never liked things easy... it was why he was still alive. It was why he and his brother had escaped prison eight years ago. And, it was why he'd chosen to give his once-enemy the name... because it was hard-hard to do, hard to accept that he wouldn't be the one to avenge his brother... life was hard.

He could hear footsteps coming-walking quietly. The light of a flashlight passed over the door, and he blinked, waiting. He hummed quietly to himself, the sound too quiet for the incoming men to hear.

He brought the rifle to his shoulder and took a deep breath. It hurt to breathe, but he wasn't going to go down without a fight, and he wouldn't let them see his weakness. Vladimir wouldn't stop fighting until the last breath left his lungs.

So, when the first man came through the door, he took aim, and pulled the trigger. One round aimed at the flashlight. He heard the splatter of blood against the wall, then the man fell.

All the others came in at once. Flashlights beamed through blackness, trying to blind tired eyes. Vladimir used the light to his advantage, if he aimed at the lights, he would hit what was behind them.

They were firing all at once...

Bullets flew by, and Vladimir paid them no mind, because he was dead anyway. If his end was a bullet, so be it. If not, he would simply bleed to death after fighting... either way, he went out unbroken.

Another one of Fisk's men fell dead beside the first. But the others that remained got lucky... or took better aim. Vladimir hissed out a curse as a bullet tore through his shoulder. The instant ache drew his attention away from the fight for a moment leaving him to wonder-was there life after death?

His next shot went through the nearest man's arm. The shooter was still very much alive, as suggested by his pained screams, and the clatter of his gun falling to the floor.

There was one more... one more, then he could die in some manner of peace.

Vladimir fired at the same time as the other man. Shell casings and blood fell to the floor. Shots echoed through the long hall. Flashing light tore through the darkness like lightening, then there was silence.

Vladimir leaned against the wall and slid down, blood trailing down the wall behind him. He was dying, he could feel it-but he was dying undefeated. His reward for his life was death-it was his. He owned his death... and at that moment, it was all he owned.

He felt cold. His body trembled and he stared through the black veil before him. His eyes didn't see... his soul felt nothing. The wounds didn't ache or burn. There was a sense of emptiness. He was leaving this world...

Every breath he drew grew fainter. Each one sounded like a gasp. He despised the weakness, but who remained to see it? He could almost laugh... almost. He'd lived his life to die. It all added up to this... to his death.

He pulled oxygen into struggling lungs. The sound was mixed with the gurgling of blood... he knew it was over.

Light flashed, and he felt nothing. His eyes were open, but he saw not darkness or shape, but light. It was white, and empty. There was neither warmth, nor cold inside that light... only mystery.

A sound like a rock slide echoed around the confused mind... slowly it turned into a whine, high pitched and screaming at him. Vladimir wondered if maybe he'd fallen into Hell. It wouldn't be a surprise...

Then, as quickly as it had happened, the light was gone, and he gasped, eyes flying open. His lung pulled in cold air and he looked wildly around. Where was he? What happened?

Slowly, his hands moved to his face. He cringed at the feeling of torn flesh over his eye. What? He didn't understand. He looked down. There were no bullet wounds... blood, yes, but he was alive.

Where was he? He turned, looking across the room. There was a man laying across from him, still... familiar.

Vladimir's mind filled in the blank. Alexi. Was it? How could it be? Where was he? What was this? His mind flooded with questions and he wondered if maybe... maybe he was dreaming, recalling his life before his death...

A door opened across the room, and the sounds of voices spitting curses could now be heard. A man was thrown carelessly inside, limp and spiritless. His face connected with the floor, and he grunted in response. A small breath passed through parted lips, and the newcomer tried to lift his heavy head, a wheezing groan escaping his throat as he did so.

Vladimir froze. His mind was reeling. He leaned forward, feeling cold muscles ache in protest to the movement. His eyes narrowed and he barely dared to blink. Anatoly. Prison. Alexi. Rats. Oleg... where was Oleg? He was gone. It was just them now...

The world seemed real and yet, so far from reality. It was as though he was looking through time-watching his life unfold before him without the chance to stop it... but...

Then he was faced with a choice. Did he test his theory? If this was a dream, was he supposed to do as he'd done eight years ago? Or was he to change everything?

And in that moment... he changed it.

"6paT? Oleg... he's dead?"

"...Da..." Anatoly could hear Oleg's tormented scream still, and he knew that Vladimir's words were soon to be true. He pushed himself from the floor in a listless movement, and stayed there, trying to regain his bearings. His arms trembled, and threatened to send him back onto his face.

Vladimir hauled himself out of his dark corner, feeling much like a frozen spider, trapped in a timeless web. He moved forward, and dragged Anatoly to the far wall. Everything felt as it had years ago... it was like a dream, yet like reliving.

"We don't need anyone else... only each other." The words slipped past cracked lips before he could stop them. His eyes peered through the darkness, looking at his brother's face-examining every detail. He was looking for something wrong... something that would tell him this wasn't real.

There was nothing.

Vladimir felt shock. It settled into him like the cold in the air and walls around him. He was numb. It was almost impossible to believe. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Anatoly. He was alive.

Almost like a theory, he patted his brother's chest, like a cat swatting at a moth to see if it would move-if it was alive.

Anatoly's eyes rolled up to look at the roof, jaws un-aligning as a rough breath left his chest. His hand blindly reached out, smacking against Vladimir's arm as though trying to get his attention. "Soon if will be just you, Vladimir."

"Nyet..." Vladimir wouldn't let Anatoly die. He wouldn't see his brother's body so still and lifeless again. "Nyet, bpaT..."

Suddenly he wondered. If this was history, he would already have it... he would have it... He reached into his pocket. His fingers tightened around the cold bone. Life and hope sparked behind Vladimir's eyes. He pulled the weapon from his pocket and slowly showed it to Anatoly.

"We leave here together... tonight."

Anatoly's expression went from concerned, to hopeful. He took the bloody bone, examining it. "Where did you get this?"

Vladimir nodded across the room toward the still form of their cell mate. "It was a gift, from Alexi." Vladimir leaned forward and practically crawled forward over the cold flooring. As he'd done before, he hauled the dead man over.

His gaze moved to the man's face, and he wondered... had Alexi died? Or was he in some world, reliving his life as Vladimir was doing in that moment? Still, his attention returned to his task.

He was going to change things. Fisk would never kill Anatoly. Not this time. This time, things would be different. He silently tugged at the rib, muttering under his breath about the rats being a blessing, despite themselves. Yes, things were already different, he could feel it.


End file.
